


Restal Box Scheme

by Clocketpatch



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen, Pre-TWB
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:58:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8249941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clocketpatch/pseuds/Clocketpatch
Summary: Dern Allo wants to pull a scam. Meanwhile, a young Delta needs to raise some extra credits.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RaspberryHeaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaspberryHeaven/gifts).



> Thank you to Lost_Spook for the beta.

"It's called a Lustig Box," the con-man said to his marks. 

They whispered and nodded like they knew what that meant, when of course it was a name Dern Allo had made up himself based on what he'd read in the historical records. The con he was about to pull had a long and celebrated history.

Dern held up the small, steel-sided box so the crowd could get a good look at it. He'd pasted a few useless gears along one side to made it more visually appealing. The crowd ooo'd and aww'd like he'd done something exciting. 

Idiots, the lot of them. Rich, fat pleasure-cruiser passengers who fancied themselves clever and daring for coming to a meeting with someone as shady as himself, even though the meeting was taking place in a luxurious banquet hall rather than one of the grubby Delta-class storage lockers where the real illicit dealings went down. With marks like these, you couldn't take them too far from their comfort zone or they'd get cold feet.

They needed their drugged canapés, and their soothingly geometric interior design, and their noxiously cheerful pleasure cruise music. Dern hated that damn music. It was inescapable in the Alpha sections of the ship. Despite the several attempts Dern had made to mute it prior to his performance, it jangled on relentlessly in the background as he made a show of twirling the Lustig Box for the crowd. 

When it seemed like they'd had their fill of him waving the box back and forth, Dern artfully produced a credit chip from his sleeve.

"A chip! Any ordinary chip, is placed in the slot on the proximal side, like so – " Dern mimed how the chip would be put into the slot " – and then, after a period of seven hours has passed the light will flick on and an identical chip will make its way through the distal passage!"

As he spoke, Dern flicked the hidden switch to reset the box's timer. A small, green indicator light flicked on, the box whirled, and a credit chip slowly emerged from its opposite side. He waved the new chip at the crowd.

"An exact replica! This is completely legal tender! It is untraceable! It is unequivocal! It is a box which makes free money!" He threw in the last sentence for those members of the crowd who were too stupid to put even the most obvious of dots together.

A hand raised at the back of the crowd.

"A starting bid?" Dern asked.

"No, a question."

Dern frowned, questions were not on his agenda. "If you want to know how many credits the Lustig Box can create, the answer is – unlimited! It can replicate a new credit chip every seven hours, and it can replicate any denomination of credit chip. Why, it can even make replicas of replicas!"

"So why are you selling it?" asked the questioner, stepping forward now. He'd been hidden in the crowd before. He was rather small. A young Delta man dressed in a fancy suit that had clearly been hemmed for someone else. Dern repressed several choice curse words. One of his dumb marks had been smart enough to send a not-so-moronic servant to the auction.

"Perhaps a Delta servant like yourself has difficulty understanding the technicalities of finance?" said Dern. The Alphas in the room nodded approvingly. One of them shoved the man. He stumbled slightly and seemed to shrink into himself. 

"The lower tiers of humanity have to be excused for their ignorance," Dern said, rallying the crowd. "It's not their fault for being born genetically inferior."

Simple classism wins the day again, Dern thought as a laughing Alpha emptied their drink over the Delta’s head. Dern felt bad for the Delta. He looked terrified, as he should: drunk Alphas had been known to play some fairly unpleasant tricks on lone Deltas caught away from their areas. It wasn't like they'd have to face any consequences for it.

Run away, Dern thought at the man. We both know you're smarter than these idiots, but you lost this time, and maybe your employer will beat you up a bit, but you'll survive.

Instead, the Delta straightened up and spoke again, loudly, even though his voice was trembling.

"You're right. Of course you're right. I'm only a simple, stupid Delta. And as a simple, stupid Delta, I'm asking you to take pity on me and give me a slow, easily understood answer. Because if I had a box like that, I'd keep it. I wouldn't sell it, even for a million credits. Because I could use it to print out two million credits, or more, given enough time. So my question is – why are you selling it? Unless it's a fake?"

The crowd growled. This was a tricky situation. They didn't want to be shown up by a Delta, and that made them somewhat easier to control, but if they got it into their thick heads that the Delta was correct and that Dern was a scam artist they would rip him apart.

Dern put on his best easy-going smile and shook his head like he'd never heard anything so ridiculous in his life. "If it were a fake, would I be willing to give you this chip?"

Dern stepped down towards the crowd to offer the man the "duplicate" chip the Lustig Box had produced. The man cautiously took it. His hands were damp from sweat and the deliberately spilled drink. His hair was plastered across his forehead. He looked small and pathetic. Even though the man was making Dern's life difficult, Dern felt sorry for him.

"What's your name, son?" Dern asked.

"Vila." The man didn't meet Dern's eye, he seemed more interested in turning the chip over and over. Dern doubted he'd ever held so many credits in his life.

"Now, Vila, I know you don't have much experience with these things, but is that a fake credit chip you're holding?"

"No." Vila's eye were still averted. Dern let out the breath he'd been holding. He could feel the crowd calming. They were satisfied. The Delta was cowed and happy with his profit. Dern was ready to start the bidding. He made his way up to his podium again.

"Can I buy it?" Vila shouted before Dern could restart the proceedings.

"With what money?" Dern asked gently. The crowd chuckled. They were in good mood now. They'd probably talk amongst themselves later about the comical Delta with delusions of grandeur. 

"Well, you've just given me some credits," said Vila, waving the chip Dern had just handed him. "And now that I think about it, just because the credits are real, doesn't mean the box is. I think you have it preloaded with a real credit chip and a timer, so it's not duplicating anything at all. It's just spitting out what's already inside. That's only a theory, of course."

"And a very pretty theory it is too," said Dern. "But the adults in the room know the truth. I'll start the bidding at half a million credits."

No one responded.

"A quarter of a million?" Dern asked. He felt his own palms begin to sweat.

"A thousand?"

The crowd was growling again.

"One hundred?" Dern said, trying to ignore the squeak of desperation creeping into his voice. At this rate, he wouldn't even make enough to cover the venue rental.

"I have a hundred," said Vila, waving the credit chip Dern had just given him. Dern waited for anyone else to reply.

"Fifty?" he asked. Someone at the back of the room was giggling.

"I have fifty," Vila said helpfully.

"Sold then," said Dern through clenched teeth. He tossed the Lustig Box to Vila who smiled ever-so-sweetly. 

Vila held the box up to his ear and shook it a few times. "Well, I'll be," he said.

"What?" snapped Dern.

"I guess I'm just a stupid, simple Delta after all. This isn't a fake."

"It isn't?" Dern asked, a horrible feeling sweeping over him.

"No, not at all. In fact, I'm fairly good with my hands. I might even be able to deal with the timer issue."

Vila detached a few of the fake gears from the side of the box as Dern looked on in disbelief. 

"That's about right," Vila said, grinning ear to ear. The box suddenly whirled to life and started spitting out dozens of credit chips. 

"That's impossible!" Dern said.

Vila continued grinning. "I'll start the bidding at half a million credits?"

***

A few hours later the pleasure-cruiser pulled into port for a sightseeing tour on Gillig IV. Something to do with crystal waterfalls. Vila found Dern slumped over his drink at bar far off the tourist trail. Evidently they'd both taken the opportunity to jump ship. It was always best to be planet-side by the time your victims realised that the only credits their new machine was capable of producing bore a striking resemblance to the ones missing from their own mysteriously lighter wallets.

Vila sat beside Dern and motioned to the bartender. "A round for my friend."

"You are not my friend," Dern said.

Vila clapped his arm across Dern's shoulder. "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself. I'm very clever." 

Dern finished his drink in one fast gulp and slammed the empty glass against the metal bar top. The clang was very expressive. Vila was glad the glass didn't shatter. He withdrew his arm and hoped that he wouldn't get punched before he had a chance to explain himself.

"You don't need to worry about me nosing in on your racket, I prefer to make my living as an honest thief. I only needed a bit of quick capital you see. I have my eye on a 4000 series safe in the London Dome, but you have to have the right tools for that sort of trick or all you'll earn is a one-way ticket to Cygnus Alpha. And you would not believe the price of a good digital interface copy on the black market these days. I'll be lucky to break even at all!"

"And meanwhile, I am ruined," Dern growled.

Vila rolled his eyes and put a handful of credits on the bar in front of Dern's glass. "Half the take for you. Call it honour among thieves or something like that."

Dern blinked at the credits in front of him. Vila wondered how many drinks the man had managed to down since slipping off the ship.

"This is half?" Dern asked, picking up one of the credit chips and boggling at it.

"More or less." The bartender refilled Dern's glass and set out a new one for Vila. Smooth green A&S. His favourite.

"Why?" Dern asked.

"I'm a thief. I did a bit of slight-of-hand and the auction take went up. Then I did a bit more slight-of-hand to supplement that total. Other people's money just comes naturally to me, you see?"

"I didn't ask how, I asked why," said Dern. "If you can get all of this in a single take, why bother with this safe? You could retire to your own planet after three or four scams, and be done with it."

Vila took a sip of his drink. It was bitter on his lips but sweet on his tongue with a warm, pleasant burn. He swallowed and tasted it in his nose. "I'm a thief," he said. 

Dern seemed to consider this for a moment before shaking his head. "If that's the truth, all the digital interface copies in the world won't get you off that transport to Cygnus Alpha, or some place just like it. That one-way ticket you're avoiding will find you eventually."

"Luckily, I am very good at hiding." Vila finished his drink in a few rapid swallows before standing. "Buy some real gears next time, Dern Allo. A few more blinking lights. And maybe call it a Restal Box. Just for me. You might want to look up Lustig's rules while you're at it. I could never follow them, but it's your vocation, not mine."

"Consider it done," Dern said. He tipped his glass to Vila. "And good luck!" 

Vila pretended not to hear the Dern's muttered, "you'll need it," as he stepped out the bar's front door into the warm, foggy air of Gillig IV. He turned towards the spaceport where an express shuttle to Earth was waiting. He'd visit his dealer for the parts first, and after that he'd study, but the end result would be a crack at the most marvellously complex safe in the Federation. Vila's fingers twitched against the hem of his trousers. He couldn't wait to be the first one to open it.


End file.
